


and all this light

by heartofstanding



Series: Lancaster Babies [3]
Category: 14th Century CE RPF
Genre: Babies, Childbirth, Cute Kids, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Plantagenets' A+ Parenting, Pregnancy, Toddlers, but mainly Mary de Bohun's actually decent parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 03:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20686430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: In the heat of summer, Mary de Bohun prepares to welcome her third child and tries to deal with the challenges of motherhood.





	and all this light

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I'm writing a series about every Lancaster kid's birth now. This can be read as following from [His Autumn Child](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18266900) and [Two Precious Sons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306018/chapters/45918322). 
> 
> Thanks to angevin2 for suggesting 'There Is No Rose of Swytch Vertu' for Mary to sing to her children. The rendering of it in modern English is my own attempt. You can hear a version [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-obvL2WBQs).

**Kenilworth, June 1389**

The air is stifling. Mary rolls onto her back and stares at the bed hangings drawn against the night. Sweat clings to the back of her neck, her armpits, her thighs, between her breasts, the backs of her knees. One hand presses against the child in her belly, as restless as she is in this heat. A summer child. Her first two children were born in autumn, when the close air of the room for her confinement seemed comforting as the air began to chill. Now, it seems a curse, leaving her restless and ill, tired all the time.

At least Henry will be home soon. At least Maman is with her. At least her two boys are growing strong and steady. They make her smile so much, filling her with more love each time she sees them.

She pushes down the sheet with her feet, wonders why the room must be so airless and warm. The baby does not seem to like it any more than she does and it is bad enough that, in the final month of her pregnancy, she finds impossible to be comfortable without all this heat.

This baby will be another boy, she thinks – and the midwives agree with her. She and Henry have settled on the name John for this one, a way to honour Henry’s father though Lancaster is still in Castile, yet to meet any of the grandsons Henry has given him. If she is wrong and it is a girl, they will call her _Blanche _and perhaps Lancaster will like that better.

Mary rolls over onto her other side, hugs a pillow to her chest. She closes her eyes and tries to empty her mind or at least distract it. Remembers her boys running in the grass in the evening, dusk in their hair and how the sky was so clear she thought she could see forever, that the moment would last forever. Her eyes are heavy, her thoughts slow. Sleep, she’s going to sleep—

The door creaks open. Mary frowns and pushes herself up in bed just as a little terrified voice calls out for her. Harry. She pulls open the hangings and hastily lights a candle. There is a glimmer of tears on his face.

‘Oh love, again?’

Harry nods and runs over to her, throwing his arms around her legs. She bends to fold him close, rubbing his back. His sleep has begun to be troubled by night terrors, though tonight mustn’t be so bad if he hasn’t woken up screaming. Joanne Waryn says it’s normal for children to go through a phase like this and Maman says that both Eleanor and Mary suffered through one, but it doesn’t help. He’s so frightened by the things his mind conjures up and he should be happy and fearless, sleeping peacefully at Thomas’s side.

‘You were so brave to come and see me on your own,’ she says, lifting him up onto the bed beside her.

‘It’s so dark, Mama,’ Harry whispers, trying to burrow into her.

‘I know, love – see, we’ve got a candle lit. I’ll light a couple more for you – but not too many, it’s warm enough.’

She lights some more candles and gathers him to her, lying down with him and pulling the sheet up again – she knows it helps him feel safe, a shield from the world outside. As a child, she used to feel the same – one of her nightmares was of a lion bursting into her room to kill her and, somehow, she felt that her sheets and blankets would serve as armour.

‘What did you dream about?’ she says, kissing his forehead.

‘We were at the water,’ he says, meaning the mere. ‘And there was a man in the water. Like Papa but big_. _Really, really, really big, Mama. He had a big sword too. He was jumping up and down and he was going to eat us.’

‘Oh, that’s very scary,’ she says.

She worries – she has been taking the boys down to the mere on the days when it’s not too hot and they’re not too tired and she thought they liked it there, sitting in the shade of a willow, feeding the ducks and watching the water lap against the shore. But if Harry thinks a giant cannibal is hiding in its depths, he clearly doesn’t feel safe there. What’s worse is that he says the giant was _like Papa, but big. _As if Henry is someone to be scared of. Things have been much better between Henry and Harry but perhaps that first year, when Henry was so inattentive and withdrawn, has left more scars on Harry’s little soul than she knows how to heal. It doesn’t help that Henry is frequently absent and he dotes more on Thomas than Harry. He says Thomas is _easier _and Mary doesn’t understand what he means. Both boys are so easy to love.

She strokes Harry’s hair back from his face and cuddles him close. ‘But you’re safe, love – there’s no giant man in the mere. Giant men don’t live in England.’

‘What if they do?’

‘Well, if there was one near us, we’d hear him moving about,’ she says and adds, in hope it’ll help Harry get over his fear of his father, ‘And your papa would drive him off.’

Harry looks up at her. Fear lingers in his big, dark eyes but he believes her. He’s at the age, Maman says, where he worships her and believes everything she says. She kisses him, hoping this will settle him, but he pulls away from her abruptly, frightened again.

‘Papa’s not here,’ Harry says, looking about to throw himself under the bed. ‘_Mama, _Papa’s not here. The giant’s going to get us!’

‘No, love,’ she says, firmly this time. ‘Your father’s left us a good, strong guard so we’ll be safe until he gets back.’

Harry’s face screws up dubiously and he burrows into her again. She holds him close, tells him that he is safe, that he is loved and it does seem to help, but not enough. He’s still sniffling a little and trembling. She traces a finger down his nose and cups his cheek. He’s so precious and even though holding him is like holding a hot little furnace, she doesn’t want to let him go.

‘When I am frightened,’ she says, ‘I say three Aves and ask Our Lady for help. Do you want to try that?’

Harry nods, teeth digging into his lower lip. They make the sign of the cross and recite the prayers, Harry’s piping voice following hers, stumbling over the Latin, and she finishes with a prayer to keep them safe from giant men and other villains and give them peaceful sleep.

‘Mary, help!’ Harry says, just as she’s about to finish the prayers and she has to bite back her giggle. It’s not exactly disrespectful – he means it and he doesn’t have the right words, but it’s so sweet and cute that she wants to laugh before she says _Amen _and that’s wrong on her part. When they’ve finished, she holds him tight, kissing his face.

‘I love you so much,’ she says and he grins up at her, offering the words back to her.

‘Mama,’ he says, a little later. ‘The baby wants me to sleep with you.’

Mary raises her brows, biting down another lot of giggles. Harry is so precious and she doesn’t want to send him back to his nursery alone. Perhaps if she goes with him… but she shouldn’t really leave her room, hot though it is.

‘Oh does he? Did he tell you that?’

Harry nods and grins. She pats her hand against her belly, feels the baby push against it and Harry goes wide-eyed, watching her belly ripple, and gently rests his fingers on what she thinks is the baby’s foot.

‘What else does he tell you?’ she says and giggles where Harry presses his ear against her belly as if listening keenly to whatever the baby is doing.

‘He loves you,’ he says. ‘And I have to stay.’

Mary laughs and runs her fingers through Harry’s dark hair. ‘I suppose if he says so, then you must.’

*

The morning dawns too brightly though Mary, the windows of her room covered with thick tapestries, doesn’t notice it until Harry scrambles onto a chest and peeks behind, the light spilling onto the ground like a white blade. Alice picks him up and pushes the tapestry back in place.

‘Another nightmare, my lady?’ she asks Mary.

‘Quite a scary one.’ Mary pulls a face at Harry, watching him giggle. ‘You should take him to Joanne, she’ll be looking for him. And I’m busy this morning. Is my mother up?’

‘I think so,’ says Alice.

She sets Harry on the ground and taking his hand, urging him towards the door. Mary waves at him and then pulls the plait of her hair away from her damp neck. Katherine lays her hands on Mary’s shoulders, the gesture comforting.

‘The countess will be here shortly, my lady,’ Katherine says.

Mary sighs with relief when Katherine sets a cool, wet cloth against the back of her neck and begins to unravel her hair to braid it anew and pin it up.

‘Is that any better? We can make the room cooler, if you wish.’

Mary chews on her lip. ‘But there’s a reason they say the room has to be warm, isn’t there? I don’t want to put the baby at risk.’

‘They say it has something to do with mimicking the womb,’ Katherine says, frowning. ‘Though if the womb is as hot as this, it’s a wonder all babies don’t come early.’

Mary giggles and then straightens when she sees Alice at the door, Harry holding her hand, about to be carted back to his nurse and his brother for the day. She can’t bear for him to go without saying goodbye properly. She calls out for Alice to wait, leaning in to hug and kiss him when he’s brought over to her. His arms wrap around her neck.

‘I’ll see you after None, love,’ she says. ‘I know you’ll be good for Joanne.’

Harry’s _yes mama _is delivered mournfully but he doesn’t protest when Alice takes him away. Mary bends her head as Katherine binds her hair up. Then Maman arrives, sweeping into the room.

‘Open a window, get some air in,’ Maman says. ‘Mary, you’ll make yourself ill in this heat. Did you sleep much last night?’ Mary shakes her head, Maman purses her lips. ‘Not surprising.’

‘It’s hard to get comfortable.’

‘My poor girl.’ Maman presses her hand against Mary’s cheek. ‘This heat will break soon, I think – I hope. And, come, as soon as you’re dressed, we can move somewhere cooler.’

‘I know,’ Mary says. She lays her hand over her belly, feels the baby move. ‘I nearly took Harry back to the nursery so I could sleep there.’

‘I would have done,’ Maman says.

*

Mary’s duties keep her busy for most of the morning and by the time the bells ring for None, her eyes are heavy with tiredness and her mind is sluggish. She hopes that Maman is right, that this heat will break soon, but she doubts it. The baby keeps turning within her, restless, and she closes her eyes. She thinks she might sleep a little because when she opens them again, the light has shifted, the shadows changed.

It is well past None, she thinks, and though she knows the boys’ nurses will have everything in hand, that Harry doesn’t really know when None is, she feels the stirrings of despair. She promised she’d be there and she fell asleep and she failed them. She takes a breath, pushes her shoulders down and cradles her belly. She cannot waste more time in self-recrimination – she has to go to them.

When she gets there, the boys are – fine. Thomas is building the towers out of blocks and then gleefully knocking them down with a yell; Harry is playing a clapping game with Joanne, breaking into giggles every now and again. It’s cooler in the nursery too – not cool, just less warm than everywhere else_. _Mary watches them for a while, feeling her heart settle, her worries disperse.

It’s Thomas who spies her first, leaping to his feet and charging over with a cry of _Mama_. She crouches down as best she can and hugs him tight, reaching out to catch Harry as he runs over. She holds them for a long moment, breathing them in, and then pulls back to see their faces.

‘Have you been good, little men?’ she asks them, brushing back Thomas’s unruly hair and kissing him. He nods, a cheeky smile dimpling his cheeks.

‘Yes! Pretty Mama,’ he says, leaning up for another kiss.

She laughs and gives it to him, though she suspects he hasn’t been as good as his smile pretends. He’s a little rebel this one and full of reckless curiosity. She turns her attention to Harry, nuzzling against his fat little cheek and then kissing him.

‘Have you had fun with Joanne?’

He nods. ‘Missed you.’

‘I know, love,’ she says, stroking his cheek. ‘I missed you too. But I’m here now.’

He smiles at that and she can’t help but gather them both to her again. Thankfully, they don’t seem to mind being cuddled tight. They curl up on some cushions and she reads to them from her psalter, feeling her sons’ bodies relax and become heavy against her.

‘My lady?’ Joanne says.

Mary glances up at Harry’s nurse and then realises the hour, sees the women preparing the bathtub. ‘Ah. Of course.’

Joanne draws herself up, looking ready for a fight, and Mary squeezes her boys.

‘It’s time for your bath, young lords,’ Joanne says.

Harry sighs and presses his face into Mary’s side but Thomas howls.

‘No! No, no, no, no, no. No! Mama!’ He looks to her for succour but she just kisses him. ‘No bath!’

‘Yes, love,’ she says. ‘You don’t want to be all smelly and dirty, do you?’

‘Yes!’

Mary forces back her laughter. ‘Yes? You want to be all smelly and dirty? So no one wants to play with you?’

Thomas’s little face screws up. ‘No bath!’

Harry wrinkles his nose and reaches over to poke Thomas. ‘Smelly Tom!’

It’s really hard to keep herself from laughing and Mary can see that Joanne and Jane are having similar difficulty. Thomas scowls and howls out another long, drawn-out _no _that makes Jane turn away, shoulders shaking.

‘No bath. Stinky forever.’ Thomas grumbles and twists to smack Harry who yelps.

‘Thomas!’ Mary scolds. ‘No hitting. Say sorry.’

Thomas’s face screws up again, but when she says his name in warning, he huffs out a big sigh and manages a grudging sorry. She kisses his head in reward and checks on Harry and finds with relief that he’s alright, mainly pouting. No tears, no tantrums and Thomas’s blow probably won’t even leave a bruise. She kisses the injury and proclaims he’s all better and he brightens.

She squeezes her boys. ‘Right, come on. Time for your bath.’

Thomas tries to take flight but Jane hauls him into her arms. Harry sighs again and Mary nudges him up. He walks over to the tub under his own power and even helps Joanne undress him but when she picks him up to put him in the tub he baulks, staring down at the water and uttering a long-drawn-out _no. _Mary bites her lip, wanting to giggle, before pushing herself up and going to observe.

‘Little magpie, there’s no need for any of that,’ Joanne says. She reaches down, balancing Harry on one hip, and runs her hand through the water, bringing it up for him to examine. ‘See?’

Mary smiles. ‘You were so brave last night, Harry. I’m sure you can master a bath.’

Harry squints at her but he nods and lets Joanne settle him in the tub, looking dubious until he’s in. He pats the water gently, a little more convinced about the merits of baths. An anguished yell draws Mary’s attention back to Thomas, where he’s trying to flee from Jane, darting from hiding place to hiding place. Mary can’t help but laugh.

‘Why did you let him go?’ she says.

‘I didn’t mean to, my lady!’ Jane says, face flushed. ‘Only he was squirming so much I nearly dropped him and he took advantage.’

‘Oh, stinky Tom,’ Mary says. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

‘No bath!’ he shouts, throwing himself face-down in the cushions and trying to burrow under them.

Jane darts forward and pulls him into her arms, hugging him close and rocking him when he starts to wail. Mary shakes her head. He’s always so dramatic and yet, he never seems to mind once he’s _in _the bath.

‘Thomas,’ she says. ‘Harry is being a very brave boy and having his bath. Wouldn’t you rather be brave than smelly?’

Thomas’s yells go silent at once and his face screws up with concentration. It’s a hard decision for him. He hates being left behind by Harry – they’re almost certain he started walking when he did because he was furious Harry could and he couldn’t – and he thinks his father is the bravest man in the world and anything described as _brave _must be done. But she suspects he likes this routine of fighting his baths, of running around and screaming before he’s caught, a little too much to give up on being _smelly Tom. _

‘Your papa loves his baths,’ she adds and watches his face light up.

‘Tom bath,’ he says at last, nodding decisively.

The little noise that Jane makes might be a sigh or laugh or even a sob, but she scoops Thomas up and carries him over to the tub and gets him in without further trouble.

*

Harry and Thomas remind Mary of puppies sometimes. Squirming balls of energy that need to understand and do everything one moment, and then practically falling over with exhaustion the next. They spent most of their bath trying to splash each other (and managing to douse both Joanne and Jane and most of the floor in the process) and now they practically fall asleep as they’re dried off and swaddled for their nap. Thomas is actually sleeping when Jane sets him in his cot, but he wakes up to blink blearily around.

‘Mama?’ he calls. ‘Mama stay?’

The heartbreaking earnestness in his voice nearly undoes Mary but she goes to him, brushing his hair back and kissing him.

‘I will, love,’ she says.

‘Mama stay,’ he says. With great effort, he forces himself to rouse again. ‘Where Papa?’

‘I’m not sure but on his way,’ she says, stroking Thomas’s face. ‘But he’ll be here soon, I promise.’

He nods, eyes drifting shut again though when Harry’s put down beside him, he rolls over and drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder and flings his arm over Harry quite possessively.

‘Mama, will you sing? Please?’ Harry asks.

Mary smiles. ‘Which song, love?’

‘The rose song.’

She covers her boys with a sheet, tucking them in and soothing back their hair, their bodies cool from the bath. She closes her eyes, straightening her shoulders and feels the baby move inside her as she begins to sing.

_There is no rose of such virtue _

_As is the rose that bore Jesus_

_Alleluia_

_For in this rose contained was_

_Heaven and earth in little space_

_Res miranda._

*

She leaves the bed hangings half-drawn and goes to Joanne, sitting down beside her.

‘I am worried about Harry’s dreams,’ Mary says. ‘He came to me in tears last night.’

‘I wish he wouldn’t, my lady,’ Joanne says. ‘You need your rest, especially at this stage and we can easily settle him.’

Mary sighs and presses her hands to her face. ‘I am not worried about being disturbed,’ she says. ‘I am worried that his sleep is such that it reduces him to tears and worse. I know you say it is normal but I can’t stand it.’

‘It will pass, my lady,’ Joanne says.

‘And then it will be Thomas’s turn,’ Mary says. ‘And then the child _after, _or so you’ve implied. I know I can’t stop them from having nightmares, but we need to find things that _help._’

‘I leave a candle burning,’ Joanne says. ‘Harry knows not to touch it. But sometimes – more often than not – it burns itself out. I was thinking of trying a lamp, if that will last longer.’

Mary nods, feeling somewhat churlish for thinking that Joanne hasn’t tried to help. Of course she has. She loves Harry too and it’s her sleep that’s disturbed more than Mary’s by Harry’s nightmares.

‘Yes – you must get one. And – something of Our Lady. Something he can hold when he’s upset. I think that will comfort him. But nothing too valuable,’ Mary says. ‘He might break it.’

‘And then he would be sad and we can’t have that,’ Joanne says firmly. ‘I will see what I can find, my lady.’

Mary smiles and then buries her face in her hands. She knows she is not sleeping well and that is making her mind wear thin – if she was not pregnant, she might have a better idea of how to help Harry. Her precious, frightened son. Though he seems alright in the light of day, as though the sun, mercilessly hot as it is, banishes his night terrors. She lets her fingers slide into her hair, messing up its braids. She is so tired and it is too hot. Even here, where it’s so much more temperate, she’s too hot. Joanne rests her hand on Mary’s knee and Mary reaches out and holds it tight.

‘No one is to blame for this, my lady.’

‘I know,’ Mary says. ‘Everyone has said so. But he’s so frightened and I can’t help him.’

Joanne’s fingers rub circles over Mary’s palm. A gesture a mother would make, Mary thinks, and wonders if all mothers feel as powerless as she does. If she will be able to cope when Harry grows bigger and bigger and begins to push against – and even resent – the boundaries of her care.

‘It is terrifying, my lady,’ Joanne says. ‘I hate each time it happens to a child. When you see them so frightened and there’s so little you can do but hold them, and your only comfort is that it will pass.’

Mary sniffles a little and raises her free hand to wipe away her tears. It will pass, she tells herself, it will pass. Harry’s terrors will lessen and he will settle himself and the heat will end.

‘Are you resting enough? My lady?’

Mary lifts one shoulder in a shrug. ‘There’s so much to do and Henry will be here soon and my room is too hot.’

‘Rest now,’ Joanne says. ‘Lie down with your boys and close your eyes. We will hang wet cloths and that will make it cooler.’

Mary nods and gets up, making one last effort to compose herself – if Thomas and Harry stir, she doesn’t want them to see her upset – and lets her ladies undress her down to her shift. She slips between her boys, kissing Harry when he wakes and easing him back down. The light is dim behind the half-drawn bed hangings and the room is quiet. The women move about and then settle, and then Mary’s awareness slips away from her.

*

Maman’s fingers unravel Mary’s hair as easily as they always have, finding a brush to work through the curling tangles and then smooth it back into a thick plait. Her cool hands press briefly against Mary’s shoulders, straightening the collar of her shift.

‘You have such lovely hair,’ Maman says. ‘I used to be jealous of you and Eleanor for all that hair. In fact, I still am. My hair was never much to look at.’

‘I thought it was pretty,’ Mary says. She remembers her mother’s blonde hair glowing in the sun.

‘You are too sweet for your own good,’ Maman says. ‘Now, are you comfortable? Not too warm? I have told your women to hang damp sheets like they do in the nursery, it should help keep the heat away. And if anyone says we should not, you just send them to me.’

‘I will, Maman.’

Maman helps her stand up and helps her pull her shift off and settle in the bed. Mary rests her hands on her belly, the baby restless, and Maman tucks pillows around her before covering her with a light sheet. She sits down beside Mary.

‘Do you feel better, like this? Or too warm still?’

Mary shakes her head. ‘I don’t know if I can sleep, though. The baby’s too awake.’

Maman brushes Mary’s hair back from her face. ‘Silly little baby, it’s time to sleep. But that’s alright. We can talk.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Mary says. ‘I just… Maman, I don’t know what I’m doing.’

Maman’s head cocks to the side. ‘My girl, you are doing everything you should be doing and a little more besides. If you need rest, take it. If the business of the household is too much, I am here. If you want to spend all day with your children, do it. You cannot do everything and at this stage, you need your rest more than the household needs you.’

‘Everything seems like such a mess,’ Mary says. ‘I can’t hold everything together and I know things are going wrong but I don’t know what to do because I can’t think.’

‘Nothing’s going wrong,’ Maman says firmly. ‘You have a good, strong family that adores you. The household runs well. All you need to do is be gentle with yourself.’

Mary nods slowly.

‘I’ll tell you a secret,’ Maman says. ‘If you can’t look after yourself, you can’t look after anyone else.’

*

The day is unbearably bright and dust is on the horizon. Closer to, there are men on horses, their banners rippling in the air. Mary shades her eyes and squints, trying to see if she can recognise Henry amongst the riders but she can’t, and turns her attention down as Thomas makes another determined effort to hide under her skirts. Jane pulls him away and sets him on his feet. Thomas whines loudly.

‘I know,’ Mary says, holding out her hand to him and feeling him latch on. ‘It’s too bright and hot.’

There is dust and dried grass on Thomas’s fine clothes. She raises her eyes to Jane and grimaces – it’s too late now to send him inside to be changed and washed. Jane tries to tidy him as best she can, plucking some of the grass from his messy hair and brushing down his clothes. When she tries to comb his hair, Thomas whines again, louder.

Mary squeezes his hand. ‘You want to look nice for Papa, don’t you?’

He shrugs and Mary bites back her laugher, feeling how sweaty his hand in hers is. She hopes Henry isn’t dawdling in this heat, and is glad she has asked for wine chilled in the cellars to be served. She turns her attention back, to where Maman is crouched down and listening as Harry chatters brightly to her. He slept better last night, Joanne says, and he seems fearless and happy in the sun.

When he seems to have finished, she calls him up beside her and Joanne tidies him as best she can. Maman presses her hand against Mary’s back, her smile fond.

And then Henry is there, swinging down from his horse, and Mary steps forward with a smile just as Thomas tears free and charges straight at Henry, yelling, _papa, papa_. Mary squeezes Harry’s hand.

‘Harry, love, why don’t greet your papa with Thomas?’

Harry tilts his head back to look up at her and then lets go of her hand to run after Thomas. Mary presses a hand to the child in her belly and follows at a more sedate pace. Henry scoops Thomas up with a grin, musing his hair up, just as Harry gets there and stops, uncertain, head titled back as he watches Henry with Thomas. Mary’s stomach squirms. Henry doesn’t seem to have noticed Harry is there and, God, she wishes he would.

Harry edges forward, raising a hand to clutch his father’s hose, and _finally, _Henry is looking down and exclaiming over his eldest son, picking him up in his other arm. Henry is sweaty from the road, his bright clothes covered in a layer of dust, but he is laughing and happy, pressing kisses to both boys’ heads.

‘Mary!’ he says. ‘They’ve gotten so big.’ His eyes widen. ‘_You’ve _gotten so big.’

Mary laughs and reaches them at last, raising herself on tiptoe to kiss Henry. ‘That’s what happens when you’re away for so long.’

‘I don’t have enough arms,’ he grumbles. ‘I want to hold you and my boys.’

‘You’ll never have enough arms,’ she says. ‘Not when there’s another one on the way.’

‘And more to come,’ he says.

Mary shakes her head with a rueful smile. ‘And more to come.’

‘And you are well?’ he says. ‘And the boys?’

‘Of course. We should go inside,’ Mary says. ‘There’s wine that’s cool and you look like you could do with a bath.’

Henry grimaces. ‘It’s hot.’

‘Papa bath?’ Thomas asks, patting Henry’s cheek. ‘Papa bath?’

‘Yes, I do need a bath,’ Henry says.

‘Papa bath with Tom?’

‘Smelly Tom,’ Harry says with a grin.

‘Harry,’ Henry says, not quite scolding but close enough that Harry’s expression becomes lost and he looks to Mary for reassurance.

‘Smelly Tom _only _if he doesn’t bathe,’ Mary says. ‘Thomas has been throwing the most magnificent fits to avoid bathing and he prefers to be Smelly Tom than Clean Thomas.’

‘Does he now?’ Henry says, chortling. ‘What a fine boy he is. But it’s very important to be clean.’

‘Tom bath with Papa,’ Thomas says firmly.

‘Alright,’ Henry says, still laughing.

Mary reaches out and tucks Harry’s hair behind his ear, bending to kiss him. He wraps her arms around her neck and Mary takes him from Henry, holding him on her hip. Henry’s free arm goes around her waist and they begin to walk back inside.

‘Should you be carrying him?’ Henry asks.

‘It’s only a little walk,’ Mary says, kissing Harry’s forehead.

‘Alright,’ Henry says. ‘What about you, Harry? You want a bath with Papa too?’

Harry buries his head in Mary’s side, shoulders hunched. Mary rubs his back.

‘He’s had a rough few nights,’ Mary says in excuse. ‘But a bath will do him good.’

*

Henry’s hair is still damp from his bath as he settles down into his chair and takes a long draught of his wine. From the expression on his face, it’s as cold as she promised and he has to struggle not to drink it all at once. He reaches for the plate of food and picks up a wedge of cheese in his hand before glancing down at Thomas on his lap and offering it to him. Thomas grabs it and stuffs it into his mouth, his cheeks bulging, and Mary and Henry stifle their laughter.

Mary strokes Harry’s hair back from his face. He’s curled on the settle next to her, nibbling on the strawberries she’s given him, his hands and face stained with the juice.

‘So Harry’s had a few bad nights?’

Mary nods. ‘He’s beginning to get nightmares.’

‘But there’s something you can do? Something to help him?’

_Something you can do. _It hurts, even though she knows he doesn’t mean it badly. He thinks, perhaps, it is as simple as calling a doctor to examines Harry’s humours and changing his diet. He doesn’t know about the nights where Harry has screamed and wept in his sleep and she has sat by, unable to do anything except trace her fingers along his arm – anything more makes him whimper and thrash, anything less feels like she isn’t trying – and tell him that he’s safe.

‘No,’ Mary says. ‘It’s mainly just trying to soothe him after the fact, to teach him that they’re dreams and he has nothing to fear.’

‘That would be nice,’ Henry says. ‘Having nothing to fear.’

Mary hides her wince. ‘Things are not going well at court?’ she asks.

Henry shrugs. ‘Everyone’s angry. No one understands, least of all _Richard, _that we were only doing what was right.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Mary says. ‘I’m sure he will come around…’

She is not sure of that at all and is only glad that Henry hadn’t tried to convince her to go with him. She doesn’t know how she can face Anne again when she was so kind to Mary, even in the middle of the mess when she was so very worried about Richard and angry at what Henry and his fellow Lords Appellant had done. But Henry always says it needed to be done.

Henry snorts. ‘What is Harry dreaming about then?’

‘Oh, lots of things,’ Mary says, and it’s easier to talk about her boys than court and politics. ‘There’s a giant in the mere that wants to eat him, lions in the castle, snakes in his bed, a man bursting into the chapel to try and behead everyone there. That wolves are chasing him or he’s been left alone in a forest.’

Henry grimaces. ‘They sound very frightening.’

Harry nods, stuffing another strawberry in his mouth. He swallows it and then curls up with his head in her lap, pressing his hand against her belly and tracing patterns as if he’s writing the baby a letter.

‘But Thomas is doing well?’

Thomas perks up, drooling around the lump of cheese in his mouth. Mary smiles. ‘Well, he has rough nights as well. Harry’s bad dreams disturb him _and _he has his back teeth coming in at last. But he’s fine, mostly – his favourite word is no, especially at bath time.’

‘After today’s effort?’ Henry asks, patting Thomas’s shoulder. ‘I don’t believe that. You love baths.’

‘Usually only after he’s run around screaming about how much he hates them,’ Mary says and Henry laughs.

‘And you’re well, Mary?’ Henry says. ‘You look as beautiful as ever…’

‘You’re very kind. I feel rather wretched,’ she says. ‘I can’t sleep and with the heat way it is, any rest I get doesn’t seem to last long.’

‘And the boys – they aren’t…’ Henry trails off and she sees his eyes narrow at Harry. She can guess he’s about to say: _the boys don’t exhaust you too much, the boys don’t keep you up, they shouldn’t disturb you. _Worse,_ Harry, get up, your mother’s hot enough without your weight on her. _Before she can cut him off, Harry speaks up.

‘Mama naps with us,’ he announces.

Mary smiles and cups his cheeks. ‘I do,’ she says. ‘Your nursery is so much cooler than anywhere else. And they’re a gift, Henry. A good distraction.’

‘How much longer?’ Henry says. ‘Until the baby…’

‘Soon,’ Mary says. ‘Very soon. The midwives say around the twentieth.’

A mere handful of days away. She is glad Henry did not delay returning any longer.

*

When the boys have taken away for their nap, Henry comes over and sits beside her. She rests her head on his shoulder and takes his hand, pressing it to the child in her belly. She feels his lips against her forehead, the way they curve into a smile, and tangles their fingers together.

‘I missed you so much,’ he says. ‘And our boys. I can’t believe how much they’ve grown. How much I’ve missed…’

Mary doesn’t know what to say to that. They grow so quickly and sometimes she misses the days when Harry and Thomas were sleepy little bundles that she cradled in her arms. When Harry could only say _Mama _in various tones and didn’t have nightmares and Thomas didn’t scream and try to hide at the prospect of doing something he didn’t like. And she is with them, she sees them every day, while Henry is busy with his duties.

She squeezes his hand tight. ‘They love you, they ask about you so much. Thomas thinks you are the best thing in the world.’

‘But Harry doesn’t.’

‘No,’ Mary says. ‘He thinks _I’m_ the best thing in the world and everyone else is not his mother.’

‘How will he survive when it’s time to establish him in his own household?’

Panic stabs at Mary’s heart. It won’t be until he’s seven or eight but still, she does not think she can bear to be separated from him. She fights to keep her expression and voice calm. ‘But that won’t be for years yet.’

‘God willing,’ Henry says. ‘My father – I worry about him wanting to bring up Harry in his household when he returns from Castile.’

‘Is he likely to?’

If Lancaster wills it, she cannot see how Henry can resist. He is too frightened of his father’s disapproval to fight him on it.

‘I don’t know.’

‘But it’s not likely, is it?’ Mary says, biting her lip. ‘Harry’s too young and… Maman won’t stand for it.’

Not if Mary begs her not to. Not when Harry is so young. Katherine might be able to convince Lancaster otherwise, too. Mary feels Henry squeeze her hand and kiss her cheek, obviously picking up on her anxiety.

‘I think I’m just frightened,’ Henry says. ‘I know he’s going to punish me for the problem with Richard, and what better way than to take my son for himself?’

‘Perhaps,’ Mary says. But now she feels his fear as her own. Lancaster is a difficult man and it is hard to love him, though she must and she does, when she has seen how much damage he has done to Henry. She does not want him caring for any of her sons.

‘I won’t let him take Harry,’ Henry says. ‘I won’t. I promise.’

Mary bites her lip, twisting around to wrap her arms around him. She knows he will try, even though it scares him, because he doesn’t want her to hurt. She doesn’t know how to fix this, if she could find the courage to stand up to Lancaster and tell him no like Henry will. All she has is her faith in her mother’s ability to fix everything, even Lancaster.

*

The afternoon is too hot still. There is talk of a storm and Mary can believe it – the air feels heavy and each time she so much as moves, fresh sweat gathers underneath her arms and her legs. She is restless, though, her mind unable to settle and her body aches, especially her hips and pelvis. Worse, she is maddening her women with her sudden desire to reorganise her clothes, to ensure that the nursery is well-equipped for the new baby, to check the kitchen inventories and hang new tapestries in the solar. But they are kind and Maman always reminds her that they all know this is what it is like to be in the final weeks of pregnancy.

She watches Henry play with the boys on the floor of the solar. It seems to be some sort of war game where the boys throw themselves on him and he falls back with a cry only for the boys to pounce on top of him. Mary shifts on the settle and sets down her embroidery, pushing herself up to pace around the solar, hoping that will lessen the ache.

Henry glances up at her as Thomas drops onto his belly again, and Mary laughs at them, the not-entirely-faked groan Henry makes, and then sits down on the stool by her harp, hugging it close to her. Harry comes running over, falling onto his knees beside her. He always does this when she plays.

She plucks a few notes, just to see the awe in his eyes, and then laughs, reaching down to tousle his hair. She thinks it is time he does more than watch and listen.

‘Joanne?’ she calls. ‘Bring a stool for him.’

Joanne puts a stool at Mary’s side and sets Harry down on it. Mary takes his hands and lets them rest against the strings, his eyes large and full of awe. Mary plays a chord for him, so he can feel the strings vibrate beneath his hands even if the sound isn’t as it should be.

‘You try now,’ she says.

He strokes the strings gently, barely disturbing them.

‘Harder, love – make a noise.’

He chews on his lip and tries, plucking at the strings and dragging his fingers over them. The sound is loud and discordant and he jerks back in horror. Mary laughs and kisses his head.

‘Exactly like that, yes!’

‘Mama?’ Harry’s nose wrinkles. ‘I made bad noise.’

‘Well, yes,’ Mary says, and cups his cheek. ‘But that was what I wanted you to do. You must always remember to have fun with your music, love. Now, why don’t you try just plucking one string at a time, like this?’

She shows him how to hold his hands and pluck at a string, and they play a little like that, moving through a few strings so he can hear how each one sounds and how it feels beneath his hands. She lets him rest, then, and plays the other strings for him and then a song, feeling him rest his head against her hip, his eyes drifting shut as she plays.

When the song is over, he claps his hands together in joy.

Henry sits up, letting Thomas slip into his lap. ‘We should get him a harp of his own,’ Henry says. ‘One the right size for him.’

Mary smiles and strokes Harry’s hair back from his face. ‘What do you think, love? Would you like that?’

He beams up at her and she laughs, swooping down to kiss him again.

‘Tomorrow,’ Henry says. ‘We should go down to the mere, all of us. It would be good for you, I think.’

Mary hides her wince by kissing Harry’s hair. She does not want to leave the castle, really, does not want to be far away even though the mere is only a short walk away.

‘I mean, tomorrow is the twentieth,’ Henry says. ‘You said the baby would come after then.’

‘Around,’ Mary says, glancing at Maman. ‘Around the twentieth.’

‘It’ll be one last outing before you’re churched,’ he says. ‘And it’ll be cooler down there.’

‘Oh, go, Mary,’ Maman says. ‘It’s certainly better than waiting for the baby to come.’

‘I suppose,’ Mary says. And it will be good for Harry to go down there and see there’s nothing to fear. She kisses Harry’s cheek again. ‘Tomorrow. In the afternoon, when the sun isn’t so hot.’

*

Mary holds onto Thomas’s hand, her other arm cradling her belly. They look out into the courtyard, the thick, dark skies cloaking the sun. Everything feels very quiet and still but like a deep breath before plunging into icy waters. The ants are running madly on the paving stones.

‘I don’t think we’ll be going to the mere,’ she says.

Thomas whines. ‘Why?’

‘It’s going to rain.’

He whines again, louder this time, and she laughs, squatting down to kiss him. Joanne returns with Harry and he runs over for a kiss as well before getting distracted by the ants. She hugs them both to her before they can start thinking about interfering with the ants or squishing them or something horrible. She doesn’t want them crying because they’ve been bitten.

Henry arrives not long after, takes one look at the sky, and says, ‘Ah.’

‘I know.’

‘Perhaps a walk in the courtyard, then.’

‘Perhaps,’ Mary says.

She hugs her children again, buying herself a little extra time. She doesn’t really feel like the walk, her back is aching, but Thomas and Harry are already pouting about not being able to go to the mere. And within days, she will be in confinement, unable to leave her room until she is churched. Henry helps her stand and she takes his arm, letting the boys go with their nurses.

The air feels thicker, weighty with the threat of a storm. The boys don’t seem to notice, running through the grass and tumbling over each other.

‘They’re good boys,’ Henry says. ‘Thomas is so fearless and full of energy, and Harry – I think he’ll be a great musician.’

‘They are,’ Mary says. ‘Though once Thomas has tried to pull your arm off because he wants you to go see something but you’re not moving fast enough…’

‘I might change my mind? I doubt it,’ Henry suggests, teasing. He turns and cups her face. ‘I love you.’

She leans in to kiss him. ‘I missed you.’

‘I would’ve been here if I could,’ he says. ‘I always miss you when we’re apart.’

She squeezes his arm, tucks her head against his shoulder. There is a kind of beauty to the world on the verge of a storm, she thinks, something wild and enormous. It makes her feel small and somehow free.

‘Well, then,’ she says. ‘You shouldn’t be late next time.’

He laughs and kisses her forehead, his arm moving over her belly. ‘I’ll try not to be.’

Lightning flashes across the sky and a huge clap of thunder follows on its heels. Mary jumps at the sound of it, so loud it seems to make the ground tremble. Thomas screams and sprints over, diving under her skirts. His hands grab hold of her ankles, his body trembles against her legs.

‘Mama,’ he bleats. ‘Mama.’

‘It’s just a storm, love,’ she says. ‘We’ll go inside and it’ll be fine.’

She looks around for Harry, sees him staring up at the sky, his mouth open and eyes huge. Rain begins to fall, large, bruising drops. Part of her wants to flee back inside but the weather is finally breaking and the heat is swept away by the storm. the rain so refreshing after the weeks of sweating and sleeping poorly. The baby moves within her, neither restless nor calm. Another flash of lightning, another roll of thunder, and she feels the baby drop into her pelvis.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Thomas, get out from under there.’

‘Mary?’ Henry says, then jerks his head up. ‘Harry? Harry, come here.’

Harry whips around and comes jogging over, staring up at them, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. Mary smiles at him weakly, holding her belly.

‘We’re going inside, love,’ she says. ‘Thomas, you need to come out so we can—’

She breaks off when the pain hits. Henry’s face is pale. He grabs at her hand.

‘Mary?’ he says, panic leeching through his voice, making it go higher. Thomas wails again. ‘Mary?’

‘You’ll scare the boys,’ she says. ‘Just – get Thomas.’

Henry stares at Mary and then squats down, prising Thomas from his hiding place as Joanne scoops Harry up into her arms.

‘We’ll get your mother, my lady,’ Joanne says, kissing Harry’s wet hair. ‘And make sure your room is ready.’

‘Thank you,’ Mary says and gasps. Her waters break, soaking liquid running down her legs. She turns and stumbles towards the castle, feeling Katherine come forward and grasp her waist.

‘It’s alright, my lady, it’s alright,’ Katherine says.

‘Mama?’ Thomas wails as lightning shatters the sky, streaks to the ground. ‘Mama?’

‘It’s alright, Thomas,’ Mary forces out. ‘Your papa will look after you. Keep – keep you safe.’

*

It hurts. It always hurts and it always surprises her how much it hurts, this rippling pain that she can only breathe though. She does not feel like herself, does not recognise the sounds she makes as human. Maman is beside her, holding onto her hand, and she keeps brushing back Mary’s hair. Outside, the storm is still raging, the lightning almost blocked out by the thick tapestries over the windows but the sound of it goes on.

Katherine wipes her face with damp cloths, holds her other hand when she wrenches it free of the bedding. Mary closes her eyes, letting her head fall back into the pillows and screams again as the next wave of pain crests over her.

‘You’re doing so well,’ Maman says. ‘So, so well.’

‘No, no,’ Mary whispers. ‘Maman, it hurts.’

‘I know,’ Maman says and when Mary looks at her, Maman’s eyes are creased in pain. ‘Just breathe, love.’

*

The baby slithers free and cries. Mary falls back against the pillows and pants, feeling Maman squeeze her hand tight. The rain is still pouring, thunder sounds in the distance, and the worst is over.

‘A boy,’ Katherine says. ‘You’ve had another beautiful boy.’

Mary smiles, straining to see him, and they set him on her chest, this little warm body, still trembling, and she reaches out her finger to trace it over his little head, over his poor, squashed nose. His eyes are dark, dark blue like Harry’s were when he was born. His hands are so small, his skin still smeared with blood and mucus, and she holds his hand between her fingers. He is _hers._

‘See?’ Katherine says, stroking Mary’s hair back from her face. ‘Beautiful.’

Mary laughs. ‘He’s ugly. Look at that nose.’ She cranes her neck down and kisses his forehead. ‘But you are beautiful and precious,’ she tells him. ‘And I love you.’

‘So this is little John,’ Maman says.

Mary nods, feeling the blur of tears in her eyes. She strokes a hand over the wispy dark hair and kisses John again.

*

She feeds John and watches him suckle at her breast, his tiny hand curling and uncurling. She’s done this with each of her boys, feeding them during her confinement to ease the ache in her breasts. Katherine says it helps, helps her heal and helps them bond with her. Maman says she did it too, a few sneaky little feeds before the wet nurse took over.

When John’s eyes start to slit shut, they take him from her and swaddle him. He submits to it gracefully, not screaming like Thomas did, and then he is given back to her and she tucks him close. She watches him sleep for a while, feels her own eyes drift shut. It is still raining outside and the sound is comforting.

‘My lady?’ Katherine says. ‘Let us when you’re ready for the Earl to come and see you.’

Mary blinks a few times. She knows Henry will be worried and she will have to calm him, ease him through his first moment with John. She kisses John again and remembers Thomas’s terror and Harry’s confusion. She would like to know that they’re alright, that they have settled.

‘Soon,’ Maman says. ‘My daughter needs to rest.’

‘But…’ Mary says. She needs to know about her eldest boys.

Katherine squeezes her elbow. ‘I can tell him about John and find out about the boys, if you’d like, my lady.’

‘Please,’ Mary says.

*

When Mary wakes again, Maman goes to fetch Henry while Katherine tidies Mary, loosening her hair and building a nest of pillows for her to rest on. Then John is brought over and Mary holds him in her arms, feeling that sweet swell of love for him. She kisses his little head, sees his eyes open and then close before he snuggles in.

Henry arrives and his face is pale but he brightens when she raises her head and smiles at him. He comes rushing over, perching on the side of the bed and reaching out to kiss her.

‘I’m fine,’ she says, taking his hand and squeezing it. ‘And this is John, who is also fine.’

‘Oh!’

Henry reaches out and carefully eases John into his arms, brushing a kiss against his forehead. He studies John’s face for a long time, eyes wet, and then kisses him again.

‘What an unfortunate nose.’

‘I know,’ Mary says and laughs, though it hurts. ‘It might turn out better than we hope.’

‘I think this one is all me, except for the colouring,’ Henry says. ‘And the nose.’

‘Well, it’s not my nose,’ Mary says. ‘It’s your father’s.’

‘Well-named then,’ Henry says, laughing. He stops when John’s eyes open and then laughs harder. ‘Oh, he just gave me a look _full _of disapproval. Exactly like my father then.’

‘Oh no,’ Mary says, biting back her giggles. ‘Oh no, poor thing. You are nothing like your grandfather.’

‘Apart from the nose and the _excellent _glare. Poor John,’ Henry says. ‘You know, it’s the twentieth? He came exactly when you said he would.’

Mary grins. ‘He’s reliable, then.’

She reaches out and strokes her palm across Henry’s face before taking John’s little hand in hers. He’s so perfect, unfortunate nose or not.

‘How are the boys?’ she says. ‘Katherine was going to find out for me but I was asleep when she came back.’

‘They’re fine,’ Henry says immediately, which tells Mary that they’re not. She waits. ‘Well, anxious to see you, of course.’

‘Henry.’

‘Well, they’re _mostly _fine,’ he admits at last. ‘We ended up sitting on some cushions and watching the storm from inside and Thomas ended up being _very _impressed with it. But they’re a little… spooked, I suppose. Needy. Harry made us say three Aves close to every hour.’

Mary smiles and squeezes John’s little hand. She remembers Harry was a little clingy after Thomas was born as they’d never been apart for so long before but he was fine within a few days. Thomas is probably in a worse state, though, since he’d been scared of the storm and she hadn’t been able to stay and comfort him like she normally would. There wasn’t enough time and even if there had been, her pain would have been sure to distress him further.

‘He’s alright, though,’ Henry says. ‘He and Harry were taken off for their nap and once they see you, everything will be fine.’

‘Yes,’ Mary says and smiles. ‘Yes, it will be. Oh – you should take the boys down to the mere, when it’s stopped raining. Get them out in the air.’

‘I will,’ he says. ‘I suppose it’s for the best we didn’t get there today.’

Mary flinches, imagining going into the labour by the mere. Trying to get back to the mere with that pain and what it would mean if she had to stop and give birth in the open grounds, in the middle of a storm.

‘Oh, very lucky,’ she says.

*

Thomas takes one look at John and declares, ‘He’s ugly.’

Mary sees Henry biting his lip to stifle his laughter and sends him a stern glance. They really shouldn’t encourage Thomas like this. She reaches out, leaving John in the crook of her arm, and cups Thomas’s cheek gently.

‘You shouldn’t be mean to your brother,’ she tells him.

‘Harry brother,’ Thomas said. ‘Not John.’

‘Harry _and _John are your brothers,’ she tells him. ‘And you should be nice to them both. Especially since he can’t help how he looks.’

‘Harry better,’ Thomas says. ‘John lump. Go away, John.’

Mary giggles and kisses Thomas’s cheek. ‘You were like this too once,’ she says. ‘And Harry looked after you. So it’s your turn to look after John until he’s less of a lump. And, love, he’s not going anywhere.’

Thomas frowns and sits down beside her with a thump, still obviously uncertain about having a younger brother. Harry, at least, is more interested in John and seems to like him – when he’s brought over, he insists on holding John’s hand and peers at his face intently.

‘John?’ he says. ‘Love you.’

Mary smiles, heart warming, and watches John’s eyes slit open to regard Harry. He smiles and Mary knows it’s just gas, but it feels like a good sign, him smiling at his older brother. ‘Would you like to hold him?’

Harry looks up at her and nods rapidly. She pokes Thomas.

‘What about you? Do you want to hold your brother?’

His nod is sulky, but still a nod. Then he looks around at Harry, narrows his eyes.

‘Me first!’

‘No! Mama said _me_,’ Harry says.

‘Boys,’ Mary says. ‘You will both get a turn at holding him, but first, you’re going to do it _together._’

They size each other up and then nod. She laughs, sharing a fond look with Henry as she leans in to kiss all three of her boys.

**Author's Note:**

> **Historical Notes**
> 
> John's birthdate seems to be without controversy and is given as June 20 1389 and though I've depicted him as being very on-time, it's possible he was slightly overdue (see: Amy Licence's _Red Roses_ for more on this).
> 
> The names of Mary's women are all drawn from history, though I admit to changing the name of Thomas's nurse from Joan or Joanne to Jane to avoid doubling up. For similar reasons, Mary's mother (Joan Fitzalan) is referred to as 'Maman' throughout the piece. I don't know if Katherine Swynford and Joan Fitzalan were present at John's birth but it seemed to suit that they were. 
> 
> John of Gaunt returned to England in November 1389 which would have been the first time he got to meet Henry's three sons. John seems to have been one of his favourites - John and Harry were the only of Henry's children to be mentioned in Gaunt's will. Harry seems to have stayed within Mary's household until 1394.
> 
> The comments about John's appearance draw from the best likeness of him which can be viewed [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_of_Lancaster,_1st_Duke_of_Bedford#/media/File:John,_Duke_of_Bedford_-_British_Library_Add_MS_18850_f256v_-_detail.jpg).
> 
> The musicality of the Lancasterian family is well-attested and detailed in, amongst others, Malcolm Vale's _Henry V: The Conscience of a King_ and Chris Given-Wilson's _Henry IV_. Mary, Henry and Harry all played the harp (_cithara_), Henry and Harry also played pipes and recorders and one or both of them may have been the 'Roy Henry' who composed a Sanctus and Gloria found in the Old Hall Manuscript collection. That it was Mary who taught Harry is my own invention.


End file.
